Gettysburg, July 1, 1863

I languish beneath this witness tree.
It's trunk twists owl-bark-grey
       and pierces the stark day.
I have not ever seen such a crisp divide
       of leaves and sky,
where dark green cuts to pure blue.
        I feel I can pull sky
between splits of leaves and branches.
       Grey puffs move across the canopy.
Sun rays diffuse in smoke.
        I smell the earth
and hot wool.